


In Wait

by FreshBrains



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Animal Death, Established Relationship, F/F, Language of Flowers, Mild Blood, Multifandom Drabble Exchange, Protectiveness, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: When Alana steps out into the veranda to get the morning paper with boots laced and coat buttoned, she’s greeted with a low whine and the slitted glow of yellow eyes against burnished fur.





	In Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this gift! I was inspired by your prompts "floriography" and "blood on snow."

When Alana steps out into the veranda to get the morning paper with boots laced and coat buttoned, she’s greeted with a low whine and the slitted glow of yellow eyes against burnished fur.

The coyote is large, well-fed. Probably not alone in the world. He cocks his head, looking at Alana like she might be sister, might be prey. He’s lovely, really—the white of his ruff starker than the snow, the grey of his jaw austere and stern. He looks right at home on the chilly plains of Muskrat Farms.

“Don’t move,” Margot murmurs from behind her, hand firm on Alana’s waist. Alana closes her eyes, knowing what comes next.

Two swift steps, a metallic jerk, and the world explodes in a huff of pungent smoke, cut off by a strangled yelp.

When Alana opens her eyes, she’s staring at the ground, hands covering her ears. There’s an elegant arc of blood across the suede of her boots, dripping prettily into the snow.

“Your shoes, darling,” Margot says softly, clucking her tongue at the loss. “Let’s get you inside.”

Alana doesn’t look at the coyote.

*

When Alana arrives home that afternoon, a bouquet of flowers rests on the hall table in a simple glass vase. They burst in an odd assortment of colors—tender yellow roses, slim purple-blue lobelia, the pretty white bells of lily-of-the-valley. Their fragrance is an earthy, sweet mix. Alana spies a small envelope and tears it open.

_I’m sorry. Thank you for trusting me. M._

Alana smiles, wafting the card under her nose. Despite the flowers, it still smells of Margot’s spicy perfume, secretive and exotic, as warm and tangy as blood. She tucks the card in her pocket.

Next to the vase, resting against the ornate table, is the shotgun.

Sleeping. Quiet. Waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> The flower arrangement very loosely symbolizes apology, malevolence, and trust.


End file.
